Champions' Blood
by Blood and honor
Summary: New powers are rising, and the blood of champions will cover the world. Old enemies must band together to defeat a threat to both of Azeroth's most powerful unions.
1. Dark Plans

Well, being an avid Warcraft fan, I thought I'd try my hand at some fan fiction for it. Please leave a review. Like many others, I wish I owned Warcraft, but I don't, Blizzard does. This is the prologue.

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The flames flickered and danced across the wood, illuminating the tent's dim interior. However the small fire was not enough to reveal the inhabitants of the tiny shelter, and despite the crackling of flames the booming and roaring of the clouds was heard clearly. Rain spattered against the tent continually though the thick kodo leather kept it from the interior.

A harsh voice, sounding much like a dog's or wolf's spoke into the silence. "What about humans and night elves? They fight into our lands, we battle hard but they too strong. What we do about them?"

Another voice answered sternly. "They shall be dealt with as well, we have spoken of this already Gnarlmane. The gnolls have numbers on their side, you can hold for long enough. The orcs must first be dealt with, their strength is a threat to all the races. First we will have to deal with their ragtag 'Horde'."

A sharp cry echoed through the tent before a decidedly feminine voice spoke. "Don't underestimate the Horde, Kelrog, they are a strong enemy. The harpies know the Alliance and Horde will not fall as easily as you would have it seem."

"I believe you overestimate our enemies, and underestimate our strength when united, Sharpwing. Together we can defeat our enemies and reclaim our lands. Now, what of the murlocs Karamak?"

The answer had a bubbling undertone and gurgles occasionally punctuated the words. "The murlocs stand ready to aid in the fight against the foul invaders. They will fall under might of murlocs and new allies we have. We ready to help."

"Excellent, then we are in agreement. We must unite to gain control of Azeroth. Now, let us end this meeting and finish our pact. Speaking in the common human tongue is difficult for us all."

As one the four leaders spoke, their voices melding into unison as they recited their pact. "We offer our blood in agreement to the truce between us, the rest of our races, and to work together until our rightful lands are ours once again." Blood hissed into steam as it reached the hungry flames in a myriad of colors.

An aged female centaur turned to Kelrog while he applied a bandage to his cut as the others filed out of the tent. "You make victory sound simple khan, when you of all people should know just how difficult it will be. The Horde and Alliance will not fall simply under the appearance of brute force and large numbers." She said in the language of the centaur.

"Don't take me for a fool Shekruk, I know that the only chance for victory lies in the fact that the enemy doesn't work together. I intend to exploit that weakness, and crush them both, for if one side weakens the other will not be so quick to aid them. But tell me what you have seen of the future, great seer, I wish to know if I will succeed.

Shekruk stood weakly on her four legs, what little muscle left in them barely able to support her. "I am sorry Khan Kelrog, but I have seen no visions of the future, my sight has faded with the ending of the old moon. Perhaps you will succeed in your efforts bu-"

She stopped abruptly, and didn't move for several moments. The centaur khan was about to see if she was all right when he realized her eyes had rolled back in her head, showing only the whites. Kelrog waited, for she was having a vision, and he would need to know of the coming battles. The elder seer turned her gaze slowly, almost painfully, away from the other and into the small fire. The words spoken were not hers, and they came as a deep moaning sound.

"_Uncontested your strength shall be,_

_But for the might of the three._

_For if power you wish to gain,_

_You must first secure your reign."_

Kelrog opened his mouth to speak, to ask what it could possibly mean and who the "three" were. Yet just as words were forming on his lips, the Seer spoke again in the same haunting voice.

"_The three blades shall come for your head_

_And shall not rest until the khan is dead._

_Though others may join the fight,_

_These three shall cause your plight."_

Shekruk suddenly slumped to the ground, the whites of her eyes rolling back only to be replaced by her usual brown. The seer lacked the energy to move and merely stared into the flames.

"Why did you stop? There must be more to the prophecy, there is always some way to counteract the events one does not want to pass. What is the rest?" Kelrog demanded.

The elder centaur took weak, wheezing breaths, slowly regaining her strength. Kelrog impatiently sighed and turned away, running a hand along the thick leather of the tent's interior. He walked along the sides of it, feeling the drops of rain strike his palm through the kodo's skin. The khan was rapidly losing patience with the seer, he needed answers.

After several moments, Shekruk stood shakily and barely stopped herself from falling over. A loud cough escaped her throat before she spoke. "I'm sorry my khan, but the vision has failed me. I do not know what has happened, it is as if my power has been clouded by something. Something like this has never happened before in the history of the centaur, something as strange as this surely would have been noted in the texts."

"I don't care how or why it happened, seer, only that I must know the rest of the vision. I suggest you find it again _if_ you value your life."

The female opened her mouth as if to speak but seemed to think better of it. With a mere nod to Kelrog, she left his tent. Once he was alone the centaur khan unconsciously ran a hand along the scar across his face, from above his right eye, through it, and down across his mouth to the center of his chin. Prophecy or not, he would find a way to succeed. He would rule everything.

Soon, the Horde would be crushed under the might of the four races. Then the Alliance would also fall. Finally he would have his revenge on the tauren and their cursed leader, Cairne. Cairne would die a slow death, Kelrog would make sure of it. Soon, everything would fall into place and no prophecy would stop him. Soon.


	2. A Beginning

This is the official first chapter, don't forget to leave a review if you read it please. Reviews let me know people at least cared enough to say something on it. As always Blizzard owns Warcraft and until I take over the world, I don't.

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The rain fell heavily as it had all week in The Barrens, and the sky was a constant gray. Animals were plentiful during those times and adventurers were out in large numbers seeking a name for themselves. Despite the rain water was still scarce in the plains and as such was still a treasured commodity in such a dry land.

Danya had made sure to bring plenty with him since the Crossroads and Camp Taurajo were the only places with water. Except for Ratchet, Danya corrected himself, The Crossroads and Camp Taurajo were the only reasonable places with water. The damned goblins at Ratchet charge a small fortune for a drop of the liquid.

The orc warrior snapped out of his thoughts and turned to the task at hand. Zargh the butcher was low on meats and was willing to pay a steep price for more. As he started running again, the mail armor he wore jingling noisily, he searched as far as he could see for more of the plain striders.

Danya noticed the rain had stopped pouring down, at least for the time being as the dark clouds above still seemed full of water. The orc hoped it would stay that way for a while, all the rain had turned the packed dirt of the barrens to a thick mud. This made it nearly impossible to travel it as his boots often sank several inches into the ground with each step. At least the animals seemed to enjoy it making it all the easier to hunt them down.

He swore and ran a gauntleted hand through his shoulder-length black hair. He must have scared off or killed most of the game in the area. Turning back to the North Danya entertained an idea. The Razormanes would have meat with them. The carnivorous pig-men were even believed to resort to cannibalism in times of famine. Thorn Hill wasn't far, and he could sell what meat he had already earned at the Crossroads and possibly finally buy a helmet on the way. Besides, the Razormanes weren't known for their skill in battle.

The orc snapped back to reality at the sound of a feral roar. He looked to the right just in time to see a savannah prowler leap towards him. The warrior reached behind his back, feeling for his familiar companion. His hand grasped the shaft of the heavy war axe and he ripped it off his back and brought it forward. The heat from its fiery enchantments seeped through his gauntlets. Just before he could bring the mighty double bladed weapon into a fighting position the prowler tackled him to the ground.

For a moment all he saw was the darkness of the clouds above him before he came crashing down hard onto the cobblestone path. The large cat seemed disoriented, as though it had not expected such a fall. His axe no longer in his hands Danya used the disorientation to his full advantage, grabbing ahold of the animal's mane and feeling for its throat. However the hair surrounding its neck was too thick and the orc couldn't feel anything but more of the creatures pelt. Finally he gave in and tried tearing hair out in large chunks, desperately trying to strangle the animal.

Suddenly the large predator seemed to awaken from its confusion and lunged for Danya's throat. The orc's hands grabbed its muzzle scarcely an inch from his face, the muscles of his thick arms bulged under his armor as he fought to keep it from his throat. The prowler's razor claws cut into the mail on his chest as it attempted to gain leverage. An idea coming to mind, the warrior slowly adjusted his grip so that his right hand would be on the prowler's lower jaw, and the left farther up on its head.

He knew he would only have one shot at it, as the second he tried it, he wouldn't be able to push back as hard. A vision of the prowler tearing into his unprotected neck haunted him for a moment but he forced it out and focused on the task at hand. Holding the top of the head as steady, he prepared to give its jaw a mighty twist. The exact moment he tried to move his right hand, the fangs of the enormous cat plunged down the last inch toward his neck.

Danya closed his eyes tightly as he pushed as hard as he could with his right hand, feeling the fangs touch the skin of his neck. The orc had failed, he hadn't moved fast enough and it had cost him his life, he would be prey to the hungry animal. And his rotting corpse would feed the hyenas once the prowler was finished with its latest meal. Perhaps his rotted body would one day be found, though no one would recognize him by then.

_Crack!_

The sound carried through the still, moist air of the day. The weight against him slumped and Danya felt the force against his hands go slack. Opening his eyes he stared back into dull lifeless ones. Throwing the body off him Danya stood up slowly and felt his neck, then smiled. Not a scratch. He wished he could say the same for the rest of him however. The armor on his legs and chest was torn open in many places, most of which had cuts underneath them, some of which were deep.

Recovering his enormous war axe, he kicked the lifeless corpse of the prowler onto its side. Drawing a small dagger, he cut off several large pieces of meat and stuck them in his pack. Hand still in pack the orc drew out several heavy linen bandages and, removing his armor, applied them to the deeper wounds. Glancing at the torn mail that was his protection he sighed. It would have to be tended to by a blacksmith and it wouldn't come cheap.

Donning the damaged armor, the green-skinned warrior began to move, heading north to the Crossroads once again. Almost as soon as he had started Danya felt something trickling down his leg, fearing another cut, the orc reached for a bandage. When he looked for the wound however, he discovered that a canteen had been sliced open, and the water had poured out onto his leg.

"Damn that beast." The orc muttered as he examined the canteen. It wasn't likely to be salvageable, but he would try at the Crossroads.

Checking his remaining canteens for any signs of damage, Danya realized that he was nearly out of water. Only one of the containers had any water left in it and there wasn't much, the prowler had ruined his last full canteen. Fear began to edge into him. Despite the clouds it was still extremely hot, and the water wouldn't last him the hours it would take to return to shelter. The heat would kill him before he made even half of the distance, the orc was sure of it. There was no chance of making it to the Crossroads in time. Maybe if he were lucky a fellow warrior of the Horde would be able to aid him, but there was little chance of him finding someone out in the trackless plains.

Danya sighed. There was no choice but to try, and try he would, he was an orc, the strongest of the races. If anyone could make it back alive, it would be him. Setting off again, the green-skinned warrior held onto the small flame of hope he had. As the minutes passed, the flame weakened, conserving the little water left had proved nearly impossible. Running was difficult as the humidity choked his lungs, stealing each breath as soon as he had it.

For once, the orc wished it would rain. Anything to help him against the sweltering heat. He had long since removed the armor he had been wearing, it was far too hot. Now he wore simple clothing made of linen. His large axe was also put away, despite possible danger. The fiery enchantments only made it worse in the extreme heat. Danya felt dizzy in the temperature, suffocated, and a need to rest. Drinking the last of his water he knew he didn't want to die this way, defeated by the mere heat of the day. He was an orc, and a warrior's death was the only way he could die, the only way he would allow himself to die.

As he sat on the side of the seldom-traveled road he looked all around himself as far as he could, searching for anyone. There was still no one, he had held out hope there would be someone as he got closer to the outpost. Yet the orc knew he was still too far out for there to be an abundance of others. Checking his map of the Barrens he knew he would never make it, he had only traveled half the distance he needed to and had already drank the last of his water.

With a grunt of effort the warrior rose, and just as he prepared for his last attempt at survival, his flame of hope all but gone. He noticed something. To his right, there was something. Something green. Turning, Danya hefted his pack, heavy due to the armor inside, and slowly headed towards the patch of green. Green meant life, but what could survive out here besides half-dead grass and scattered trees? If something was healthy enough to be green, there had to be water, and that thought spurred the orc on. Yet his map showed there to be nothing there but more of the empty plains

However he wasn't sure it wasn't an illusion, the heat could be playing tricks on his mind. After all his map showed there to be nothing here but more of the empty plains. Even if there was water he would need to conserve his strength getting there, especially if it was guarded. Soon it was clear the plants went on quite a ways, and it seemed even trees were in the distance. Not the dead, dry husks found elsewhere, but lush, healthy trees. Touching the short grass, the orc knew it couldn't be in his mind, unless he had truly gone mad.

Danya turned toward the trees, and headed toward them, perhaps the water was above ground, but if it wasn't he would have to dig for it. If it came to that, he doubted he had the strength left for the task. The trees weren't many in number, but there must have been a large amount of water to sustain them so well, or so he hoped.

Something soon came into sight though, it looked like men riding horses, at least until he came closer. Then it became clear they weren't men riding horse, but men _and_ horses, and that meant only one thing. Centaur. They even had their small huts set up in their usual scattered, random patterns, truly they had no sense of tactics. Danya suppressed a frustrated cry, of course just as he seemed to have a chance of survival fate threw something in his way. Now wary, the orc continued closer to the centaur. If the centaur were here, there had to be at least a well.

Re-donning the chain mail armor and hefting the mighty war axe, he had all but forgotten the heat. There were far too many of the horse-men to fight, perhaps he could find a way around their camp. If there was only a well though, getting to it could mean a large fight, one he couldn't win even at his peak. Skirting the small village as close as he dared the orc slowly made progress. Danya felt a growing sense of frustration, he was a warrior, the fierce strength behind the Horde, not some cowardly rogue. His instincts told him he should fight, prove the strength he had to the filthy invaders. Yet he knew he couldn't, not yet. As soon as he was able he would return with allies and lay waste to the foolish creatures.

Finally, the last of the crude huts behind him, he searched for any sign of water. There had been no signs of any at the village, so it was likely to be nearby. Gripping his axe handle tighter he headed towards the largest clump of trees and shrubs he could see. Then, he heard something that both raised and lowered his spirits, a splash. That meant he was very close to the water, but it also meant someone was already there, and he doubted it wasn't a centaur. Crouching low, he slowly moved closer to the low bushes.

Pulling back part of a bush, he confirmed his suspicions, there were centaur in the water. However they were merely children, two of them actually, seemingly taking a swim in the small oasis. The proud warrior knew he couldn't bring himself to murder children, not in cold blood like this. He considered waiting for them to finish, but with how weak and dizzy he was, it was clear waiting wasn't an option for him. Then he would have to find another way to drive them off, and keep them away.

Lifting a rock from the ground nearby, he waited for several of wait felt like hours for one of them to turn away from the other. Finally, just as he believed he would need another plan, one of them swam off from the other, interested in something on the far bank. Danya pulled his arm back and hurled the small stone at the child, then ducked behind the bush, the last thing he needed was to be seen. He heard a voice shout at angrily in a language he didn't understand, and then a closer one respond. After several seconds of loud splashing, silence reigned. Glancing up, the orc saw the one he had hit running towards the village, the other not far behind.

Smiling to himself, Danya quietly but quickly made his way to the oasis. Taking one last look around himself, he submerged his head in the cool water, drinking deeply. It tasted dirty and thick, but the orc didn't care, it was the best drink he had ever had. After bringing his head back out of the water he realized he felt better much sooner than he thought he should have. Something wasn't right with the water he drank, it should have taken much longer than that and much more water than that to be well again.

Knowing he had no choice but to take more with him, and seeing as it had no ill effects he filled his remaining canteens with the liquid. Taking a second to stretch the orc began to head off toward what he hoped was the road, he needed to make it to the Crossroads soon. Behind him he heard a cry of surprise, intermingled with the whinny of a horse. Already knowing what he would see, the green-skinned warrior turned around. There were three of them, one of which was clearly the leader, was larger than the other two and had an arrogant air around him.

The centaur spat in crude orcish "This place belongs to the Kolkar green skin, you are trespassing. And the penalty for trespassing on our lands is death."

Danya measured the strength of the three of them. The one who had spoken carried a simple sword with many notches taken out of the blade. He would be the strongest, and the one that would have to be killed first. The other two with the leader carried crudely made hatchets, nothing compared to his mighty axe. Still, he doubted he could win against three, especially in quick succession if not all at once. There was no choice however, and it would be a warrior's end.

"You want a fight? Bring it then!" Danya said. The leader haughtily advanced towards him as soon as he finished, raising the sword in a fighting position as his hooves kicked at the soil.

Before he had even moved, before he had even raised his axe, the rage had come to him. A primal, powerful, near evil strength began to spread into the orc. It moved as though time had no meaning, steadily coursing through his veins, every second making the warrior stronger. With the power of it his strength doubled, tripled, gaining every second. Cords of muscle bulged with the new power he now felt inside himself.

As it spread all sense of fear, of hesitance, of _mercy _faded from Danya. All of it was washed away by a new feeling, the feeling of power incarnate. Everything boiled away from his mind to the simple thoughts of kill or be killed, destroy or be destroyed. All that mattered now was killing the enemy in front of him, survival was secondary to that task.

The power and hatred imbued into his race by the demons centuries ago filled him. The very thing that had dominated the orcs for generations and turned them into creatures that killed freely until they alone ruled. All of it was held in one small corner of the orcs' minds, forever a tool that they could call on as they wished. And it had but one name: the blood rage.

Once the rage fully completed its transformation Danya saw everything in red. It was the blood red it would be when he was finished with it all, when he had fulfilled what he had called upon the rage to do. His eyes glowed red with the intensity and hatred inside of him, he was but a vessel for the rage within. The centaur but things for the rage to prey upon. All of it filled the beastly roar that followed.

The leader had only just reached him when the roar had echoed through the silence. Momentarily stunned by the cry, the centaur barely parried the axe blow that would have cleaved him in two. The combatants traded blows, the centaur being forced back with each strike of the orc. However Danya couldn't get past his defense for long enough to finish it. Soon, the two weapons were locked, and were pushed back between the two continually.

The centaur felt some of the strength behind the axe lessen. Thinking the orc was tiring, the former pushed as hard as he could back towards his opponent. That was when he realized Danya was only holding the axe by one hand. Before he could react, he felt a powerful blow to the side of his face, and blood poured from his mouth. Coughing, he stumbled for several moments before regaining his balance.

Exactly when the centaur recovered enough to stand, the axe swept in, cleaving his front two legs off the body. The searing heat immediately cauterized the wounds, and Danya's opponent collapsed forward, no front legs to hold him. As his enemy cried out in pain and fumbled for his sword, Danya unceremoniously beheaded him. Breathing heavily, the victor turned to face the remaining two.

Rather than flee in fear as he would have thought, the other two hardened their expressions. One of them charged him, the crude hatchet swung in a downward arc towards his left shoulder. Intercepting the swing with his axe, Danya cut through the wooden handle under the head of the axe. The axe head's momentum carried it on and it grazed his shoulder before hitting the ground. Then the orc swung towards the centaurs side and as the axe struck, it tore skin and muscle, the fiery enchantments again sealing the wounds. The upper half of its body tumbled over the lower half, which collapsed in a heap.

Hearing a cry, the orc turned to see the final centaur charging straight towards him. Its powerful legs churned the dirt as it flew at him. As it drew back the hatchet, Danya knew there wouldn't be enough time to dodge or block it, the centaur was too close and too fast. The blood rage left him and he realized he had let down his guard. At least now it would be a worthy death, a warrior's death in a final battle.

Suddenly a sword caught the centaur in the arm with the hatchet, nearly severing it from the body. Turning, it brought the hatchet towards the new opponent, only to have it deflected by a shield. Danya felt he had seen that shield before, yet it brought him no comfort something about that shield warned him of the owner. However before he could see who was using the weapons, a splash of blood covering everything for a moment, and he shielded his eyes. When he reopened them, the centaur was dead, gutted on the ground by his new ally.

"Thank you warrior, I would not have survived without your help." The orc said as he turned to face his rescuer. "But why were you out here in the middle of-" He stopped when he saw who it was, or rather _what_ it was. Dressed proudly in his blue colored mail, sword and shield at his side, the figure also looked at him. Danya blinked in disbelief, here standing next to him, was a _human_.


	3. Meetings

Thanks for the reviews you two. Sorry it took a while to get this chapter up, driver's ed has been a pain.

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The human, apparently a man, appraised the orc carefully. His hands remaining near his weapon. Danya didn't know if he could survive a battle against anything in his weakened state let alone one of the Alliance. No, it would be better to see why this human had saved him especially with the bloodshed between their kinds. The man's shield carried the symbol of the human island to the East, Theramore. There had been a peace between the Horde and that island before old hatreds destroyed most of what was gained. 

He had blonde hair from what could be seen below his head gear though he couldn't tell how long it was as that was obscured by a large mail helmet, also of Theramore make. His armor seemed to have once been a shining testament to the humans' strange attraction to appearance but was now beaten and worn. Clearly caring for appearance didn't extend to him. His skin, from what the orc could see, was a light pink tone as most humans' were.

Also, the man appeared to lack the facial hair most humans were so fond of having. His eyes were a deep, piercing blue, and the warrior found himself unable to look into them for long. His sword seemed different however, the hilt appeared to made of gold and his shield also looked to be made of the dwarves' favorite metal, mithril. They were in good condition, a sharp contrast to his battered armor. No normal human soldier would be given such valuable equipment.

The human spoke several words, which to the orc sounded something akin to "Loke a cardun bah'heatha." The orc warrior looked at him quizzically. Did he really expect him to know Common?

However the Theramorian didn't look surprised by Danya's reaction at all, rather he seemed to expect it. Appearing to think for a moment, the human spoke again, "You're welcome."

Danya gaped, "_You_ know orcish?" Any member of the Alliance knowing orcish was a surprise, and not necessarily a good one. Speaking different languages made spying nearly impossible for either side. A fact the orcs were fine with, spying and sabotage were weak traits it was better to win with dignity and honor by defeating the enemy with skill and strength in battle. The humans didn't think so however.

"Some, trollish, taurahe, even a little of the Forsaken's gutterspeak. I would have thought the fact I was from Theramore Isle would give away that I knew at least a little, since we are so close to Horde territory. However I do know more than most would, I was sent here by Lady Proudmoore herself to learn what I could." The human replied.

"So you're a spy?" Danya asked heatedly, readying his axe.

"You could say that though I wasn't sent to spy on the Horde, if that's what you're thinking. Rather there have been strange occurrences lately, the Mirefin Murlocs in Dustwallow Marsh have become more aggressive, even attacking our sentry towers. Adventurers have claimed that gnolls, centaur, even harpies have also begun strong and frequent attacks on both Horde and Alliance bases."

"Why should I believe you? I don't even know your name human."

"Mine is Jethand, though my friends call me Jeth. As I recall you never told me yours either did you?"

"My name is Danya, and I'm no friend of yours Jethand."

Jethand's expression turned momentarily to frustration, then he sighed. "Fair enough, it's not as if I consider you much of one either. But we should go, before more of those light blasted Kolkar come to find out what's going on." Seeing Danya's clear refusal to follow him anywhere he continued. "Look, you can either trust me or face more of them." he said, pointing to the carcasses.

"I don't trust you human, but I will follow you. I know I could at least defeat you." Danya said. Jeth glared at him, but sighed and muttered something under his breath before quietly heading off toward the South East.

The journey was slow and felt even slower through the uneasy silence between the two. Jeth had long since given up on any hope of conversation with the orc, he clearly wasn't interested in talking. The dry, trackless plains of The Barrens seemed to go on forever before them. However the green skinned warrior noted that the Theramorian was identifying landmarks. Dead trees, strange looking rocks, and various other things all passed warily under his eye. He clearly knew where he was going.

After what felt like hours, Jethand turned to Danya. "Well, we're almost to my camp. Do you trust me enough to believe I won't try and kill you?"

"No, I just don't intend to give you the chance to."

Shaking his head, the human warrior led on. Soon it was clear there was indeed a camp, the remnants of a long dead fire were surrounded by several bedrolls. The orc wondered why there were two bedrolls, unless of course the human wasn't alone. Turning to ask Jeth if he had an ally his suspicions were confirmed when he felt the cool metal of a dagger touching his throat.

"Who's this Jeth? A friend of yours?" Danya recognized the voice, or at least what it must have come from. It was a woman, that was obvious, and it didn't sound like a human. Gnomes and Dwarves weren't tall enough, and it didn't sound like one of them either, that left a night elf. A hint of overconfidence played into her voice. She was speaking in orcish so he could hear what they planned to do with him. From the way she snuck up on him without a sound he guessed her to be a rogue.

"He's no friend of mine, but I don't think we should kill him. He didn't try to kill me which I find surprising for an orc. Perhaps he would prove useful in some way. Danya do you have any skills that would be useful?"

"I'm not interested in helping two like you, especially if you enjoy manipulation. You're just like a human, you rely on cheap tricks to accomplish your goals rather than winning through your own strength." Danya said with menace creeping into his voice.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, perhaps we should just let him go though he could tell others of us, and they may not be so friendly. It seems you can either help us or die, the choice is yours orc." Jethand said.

"I choose death, but I demand one of honor, not some worthless murder like your friend here has planned. Why didn't you tell me you weren't alone Jeth, did you intend to capture me like this?"

"You must be a fool to believe I would enter into your people's territory alone. There isn't time for a death in battle Danya and for that I am truly sorry." The Theramorian said quietly.

"Too bad, I wanted to see how you'd fight warrior." The voice behind him said.

Danya tensed. Dying without honor, having his throat cut and being left to die wasn't a death he wanted. Everything he had fought for, had gained with his own blood, was about to come to an end at the blade of a rogue without any glorious battle to mark him. A clear _thunk!_ was heard and the green skinned warrior felt the weight against him fall forward and then pulled back.

A thickly accented voice spoke up, "No, chou be da fool humon, thinkin' chou could come in our land and not get inta a fight."

The clear sound of metal ringing was heard as Jethand drew his sword. Danya noticed it carried a blue tint, it clearly carried powerful enchantments. Suddenly a seemingly ordinary cat appeared behind him, yet he saw it had long horns growing out of its head. It transformed into a tauren and he brought his staff down at the bottom of the Theramorian's helmet at the neck where no armor was present.

"I would advise dropping your weapon, human."

Jeth complied almost immediately, his sword dropping to the ground directly in front of him. Surprise was written across his features.

"I got da otha one Randalar. She be a pretty elf too." The troll said and grinned maliciously.

"Are you all right friend?" The large tauren, apparently Randalar, asked in a surprisingly kind voice for his large size.

"Fine. Though they intended to kill me." Danya said simply.

"Why don't we return da favor den mon?" The troll asked darkly. His right arm was tightly held against the night elf's throat, a steel mace in his other.

"No, we shall take them to the Crossroads. Those in charge may decide their fate." The tauren druid said firmly, it was clear he would not hear an argument.

"Yes, and maybe why they were spying on us as well." Danya said.

"For the last time Danya, we weren't spying on you." Jethand said pleadingly.

"Don't bother Jethand, these savages don't understand the concept of mercy." The night elf said, voice filled with hatred.

"Arienna, the last thing we need is for the tauren to change his mind about sparing us." The human warrior says to his companion. "What is your name tauren? And you troll?" He asks turning to each in turn.

"My name be Rojomin human. Also a mighty shaman." The troll behind Arienna said.

"And mine is Randalar. What is yours human? It seems your companion is Arienna, and the orc is Danya."

"I am Jethand. A warrior sent by Theramore to search for any suspicious acts by the smarter of the native races in The Barrens. Lately many have been seen attacking both Alliance and Horde outposts. This is Arienna, she agreed to aid me in my travels."

"Hmm, we shall see if your claims are true once we reach the Crossroads. As our factions are currently at peace, I am certain you won't be judged unfairly." Randalar said.

He was large, though that was to be expected of a tauren. His two black horns met in the middle and extended to either side straight out ending in sharp points. His fur was a dark brown, almost to the point of being black. Green eyes struck out in a sharp contrast. Black hair fell back along his neck and down to between his shoulders. He was dressed in leather leggings and a vest, with fur-lined boots. Randalar didn't appear to be wearing anything else. The staff turned out to be just a wooden staff still held tightly against Jeth's throat.

Rojomin was lanky like most trolls though he was just as muscled as well. His skin was blue and red hair grew all along the top of his head, back to just below his pointed ears and hanging over his eyes and across most of his forehead in the front. The shaman's clever orbs were a dark brown. He wore quite a bit more than Randalar and it was also leather. The troll wore leggings, a vest, three fingered gloves, specially tailored boots, bracers, and a brown cloak. His mace was blunt and made of steel with a wooden handle. There was also a shield strapped to his back but Danya couldn't see much of it.

Similar to the rest of his brethren Rojomin was very tall, even though he had adopted the troll trait of slouching even when standing. He was still easily as tall as Arienna. When trolls rose to their full height they were just as tall as the mighty tauren, something few others races could reach.

"Fair? Our factions are on the brink of war. I doubt it will be fair at all." Arienna spat.

No one noticed it still hadn't rained despite the heavy darks clouds hanging lazily in the sky. They were each caught up in their own problems at the moment, being captured or the ones capturing. Randalar removed rope from a pack and bound the human's hands, passing the sword and shield to Danya. He then took the daggers from Arienna and tied her hands together as well.

"We will try our best to make it fair on you as you have done nothing wrong. Though attempting to kill a member of the Horde will not be looked upon well." The kindly druid said.

Arienna merely remained silent looking as if all hope for her was lost. Danya thought it was very possible it was. Her green hair hung behind her back loosely, swaying whenever she moved. Her skin was a dark pink color, just a shade lighter than purple. She wore the black leather of a rogue with a hooded cloak dark as a starless night, currently pulled down. Even her current position, being held by the tall troll behind her, failed to detract from her noble air or beauty. At least for a night elf he assumed she was considered attractive though he preferred his own kind.

"C'mon, if we hurry, we can reach da Crossroads before it gets too late in da night." Rojomin said, his thick accent clear.

The unlikely group silently set off towards the North in the direction of the Crossroads. As the hours slipped by, Danya learned more about Randalar and Rojomin, the two who had come to his aid. They had come to know each other through fighting the Razormane. Soon they became friends, especially since their different paths, druidism and shamanism were very similar. Jethand and Arienna, to their credit, hadn't made any true attempts at escape. However, the three members of the Horde agreed that it was only a matter of time before they did.

As the light dimmed even further, it was clear the sun was setting. Having traveled for some distance all agreed it would be best to rest. Setting up a crude camp with the supplies from both the Alliance camp and their own packs they rested and cooked a meal.

"Would any of you care for any water, I found it in an oasis guarded by Kolkar?" Danya asked as he reached for one of his canteens.

"An oasis?" Randalar paused as if in deep thought, "Guarded by Kolkar? May I have some Danya?"

"Yes it was guarded by those pathetic centaur, why?" Danya asked as he handed the canteen to him.

The druid sniffed the canteen with his large nose, lacking the usual ring, and took a drink. "I sense strange energies in this, powerful energies. Tonga Runetotem will wish to know of this, he is interested in these oases. Kolkar guarding any oasis is a bad sign. Whatever has been put into these waters rejuvenates and strengthens, the centaur could become much more dangerous with it."

"Danya is right, da Kolkar are weak, we can take dem easy." The shaman Rojomin put in.

While the Horde members spoke, Jethand whispered to Arienna in Common. "When we near the orc outpost we'll have the best opportunity to escape. Once in sight of it, they'll drop their guard thinking we can't possibly get away. However, we may have to leave our weapons, but I'd rather lose those than our lives, wouldn't you?"

Arienna nodded, not daring to speak with the troll's large ears possibly hearing anything she said. They ate quietly, having been given food and water. Even bound as their arms were the two could still probably escape watch and supplies wouldn't be a problem since they could steal them or get replacements from Ratchet if they had to.

After resting for nearly an hour they continued on in the darkness, lighting a torch to help them see in the near pitch black of the clouded night. Only the moon penetrated the clouds, and Arienna thanked Elune for her guiding light. She alone could see well in the darkness, her glowing eyes taking in all around her. If it was dark, slipping away would be that much easier.

Hours passed uneventfully, and still it did not rain. Randalar expressed concern, worried that the lack of rain with such heavy clouds was not a good sign. Rojomin shrugged it off believing that nothing was wrong with the clouds and that it just wasn't time for rain. However that did little to help ease the druid's concerns.

Soon, the road appeared more well traveled and bright lights were seen coming from the north. Arienna and Jethand exchanged worried glances. If they had that much light at the outpost there was little chance of them slipping away. Believing themselves condemned to death the two followed along towards the light.

However Danya, Randalar, and Rojomin were excited to be so near a place of shelter. Especially one as large and powerful as the Crossroads was. Finally, after such a long day, the orc warrior was relieved at the chance to rest on the soft mattresses of the inn. While unusually well lit he believed it was just because of the darker than average night.

The five reached the top of the last hill before the orc outpost and stopped cold. All plans of escape were temporarily swept from the captives' minds at what they saw. Smoke was pouring upwards from the Crossroads originally masked against the darkness of the clouds. Now they knew why it had seemed so bright.

The Crossroads was burning.

* * *

If you remember in the prologue, I said 3 people would be able to stop the khan, but here we already have 5. I'm evil that way. 


End file.
